Stockholm's Warehouse
by Lexical
Summary: The team have investigated the worst of human evil- but when they go head to head with Jigsaw, what will be left? AU Criminal Minds/"Saw" Crossover
1. Let the games begin

Stockholm's Warehouse by Lexical

Rating: M for graphic violence/scenes of torture and language.

Summary: The team are thrown into the nightmarish world of Jigsaw. When Reid and Hotch are abducted, how long will they last? Criminal Minds/ "Saw" Crossover. Takes place when "Jigsaw" is still ambulatory (think first movie).

Author's Note: This is my second fan fiction ever. Please be gentle. Concrit welcomed! This is only the first chapter- I'll try to post more if anyone thinks this story should continue.

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"18 victims to date, only 3 survivors." Hotch said grimly from his seat at the table. He had the slide projector out and a macabre scene of torture was illuminated on the wall- a young man with his head turned around almost completely backwards, eyes staring out at them in eternal horror. Garcia shut her eyes. Morgan straightened up, face grim. Reid just stared, expression a mixture of horror and train wreck curiosity.

Hotch pressed onto the next slide. "Andy Sanderson, one of the three victims to survive." He said simply. The young woman was lying in a hospital bed, eyes sunken and glazed. Much of her body was wrapped in white gauze, hiding hideous atrocities.

"This unsub views himself as a mentor, a teacher," Hotch said simply, leaving the image of the living victim illuminated on the wall. "He doesn't actually kill anyone, not directly, but instead manufactures a situation where the victims must chose between consenting to torture or death. Because of this, we are going on the assumption that our unsub views his victims as undeserving of life. Reports from the three living victims indicate as much." Hotch picked up a file, began reading:

"He didn't want to hurt us, even though he did. He was just trying to make us appreciate what we had, what life was worth. If you find him, what will you do to him?"

Hotch stopped reading, glanced around the room, taking in his agents reactions.

"Sounds like Stockholm syndrome," Reid said tightly, still staring at the image on the wall. Morgan glanced at him, raised his eyesbrows in question.

"A phenomenon in which a hostage begins to identify with and grow sympathetic to his or her captor. First identified in 1973, after a hostage of a bank robbery showed signs of identifying and sympathizing with the hostage taker. Symptoms often report-"

Hotch cut Reid off. "The strange aspect here is that these victims aren't simply held hostage and isolated. They are subjected to extreme mental and physical torture, and many of the "games" instigated by Jigsaw leave little to no room for survival. But-"

Hotch flicked to the next slide. A young man lay dead on a slab of dirty linoleum floor, lips blue, chest covered in deep stab wounds.

"As in this case, survival was merely a ruse. This victim, David Hash, stabbed himself to death looking for a key imbedded in his chest that was eventually found in his stomach. In this case, and in many others, Jigsaw's "clues" were so vague as to be virtually meaningless, little more than the taunt of survival."

"He died from his self inflicted wounds?" JJ asked, staring at the image for a moment before glancing away.

"He died from an as-of-yet unidentified nerve gas which was released into the room after the victim failed to find the key necessary to unlock the door. This unsub views those victims which do die as further proof of their disdain and disregard for life, their unwillingness to do whatever is necessary to ensure their survival. These "failures" increase his self esteem and sense of moral vindication, as do the relatively few survivors."

"They survived because they were, ultimately, worthy." Reid mused darkly, draining the last dregs of his coffee in one gulp. Hotch nodded.

'Robert Hare spoke of the, for lack of a better word, "moral" psychopath, someone with a diminished ability to feel guilt who funnels his inherent sense of disconnect with others into a sense of moral responsibility, even superiority. Such individuals are likely to be seen as their friends and neighbors as morally upstanding, albeit often rigidly so."

Reid stopped for breath, glanced at his colleagues. Hotch was nodding grimly.

"Like Albert Fish reassembling the body of Grace Budd after dismembering her?" Morgan asked coldly. Reid shook his head.

"No, nothing like that. In all likelihood Albert Fish was suffering from some advanced form of psychosis, as evidenced by his extreme self injury and…"

"Not like Fish. Most of the individuals Reid is talking about actually never break the law, but instead are more likely to uphold it, many entering jobs as police, nurses, doctors… These individuals never cross the line into actual violent behavior and are thus classified most often as "subclinical" psychopaths." Hotch cut off, sighing.

"Our Unsub may have started out like that, but something propelled him to cross the line into violence, abduction, murder. He's escalating, but also methodical and planned. These aren't crimes committed in the heat of passion, which leads us to believe that he feels the need to get his message out, and quickly, without jeopardizing his methodology. The lack of direct contact with his victims also suggests that he may be physically sick or weakened. He sees himself as a judge, almost a God, deciding coldly who will live and die, but the inevitable outcomes of some of his "games" suggests that he views the initial game as rigged itself. He quite likely is dying and is taking out his rage and sense of injustice against members of the population who are young and physically healthy, but which he views as ungrateful or unappreciative of life." Hotch let this sink in.

"More than likely, his crimes will become more violent and sadistic as his physical health declines." Hotch flipped through a few more slides, gorier than the rest, to make his point.

"The latest victims." He stated, unnecessarily. JJ winced and turned away. "He's been excessively careful not to be caught. All we have to go on right now are clues he's quite obviously left us."

"He's playing us as much as those victims." Morgan said, mouth pursed into a grim line.

"Because of the elaborate set up of these games, his lack of contact with the victims, his methodical planning and the fact that the only clues we have to go on have been essentially given to us, we can assume we are dealing with someone highly intelligent, more than likely operating at genius level or above."

All eyes turned to Reid, who shifted uncomfortably. Hotch flipped to the next slide for a moment before turning the projector off.

"He knows the BAU is on to him now, as evidenced by several live feeds of victims which have been sent directly to us within the last week. This last point can not be stressed enough- our UNSUB, weak as he may be, managed to abduct all 18 of these victims with apparent ease. He sees himself as a teacher imparting great wisdom, and we are now in his radar. Needless to say, I want all of you to be extra careful until we catch this guy."

"You think he'd come after one of us?" JJ breathed, glancing towards Hotch.

"That possibility can not be overlooked. In fact, by targeting a member of the team he would be sending an even stronger message."

"How?" JJ said, looking pale now.

"We are FBI." Reid cut in, glancing towards Hotch, who nodded. "We apprehend the most violent and depraved. If he can abduct even one of us, he feels that his message will be appreciated all the more. Victimizing one of us would also raise his self esteem and sense of justification- if one of us falls prey to him, then he, by default, becomes even smarter than the best criminal profilers in the country, more threatening, elusive. This guy is feeding off fear and revulsion now, and he knows if the people responsible for apprehending him become victims, he will command that much more terror." Reid cleared his throat, before continuing.

"Also, if any one of us was to be caught, he would most likely view it as a sign that we are in the wrong, and he's in the right. That fate or God or whomever was paving the way for future success, future victims. These crimes are part of a large game to him- and we're one of the most powerful opposing pieces on the board right now. If he takes just one of us, he is essentially removing the threat of all of us."

"I thought you said this guy was smart." Morgan spat out.

Reid shifted, got up and went to the coffee maker. Poured himself a cup, dumped in a near equal amount of sugar. "He is. He is confident he won't be caught, either way. If he did succeed in… taking one of us, the success would be symbolic, and that's enough for him."

Hotch nodded, pushed away from the table. "Garcia has more information on the live internet feeds. We meet outside in 30."

"He looks spooked." Morgan mumbled, watching the senior agent march away.

"He should be." Reid confirmed softly.

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That's it for right now. Another chapter coming soon, depending on how this is recieved. Please review


	2. Meet the players

Stockholm's Warehouse by Lexical

Rating: M for graphic violence/scenes of torture and language.

Summary: The team are thrown into the nightmarish world of Jigsaw. When Reid and Hotch are abducted, how long will they last? Criminal Minds/ "Saw" Crossover. Takes place when "Jigsaw" is still ambulatory (think first movie).

Author's Note: This is my second fan fiction ever. Please be gentle. Concrit welcomed! This is chapter two- feedback and suggestions welcome. Have fun, guys.

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No one spoke on the plane, no one played cards. Reid was hunched over in his seat, reading even faster than usual, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Hotch was going over the files of the first 18 victims. JJ stared out the window, distraught. The speaker phone went off and Hotch got it.

"Yeah."

"It's Garcia, you're going to want to see this. I'm patching through a live feed now."

Hotch nodded and pulled open the laptop. Reid dropped his reading, followed Morgan and JJ over.

There was a little boy on the screen, holding a gun. A man, semi-conscious, could be seen in a reclining chair.

"Jesus," JJ breathed. "I didn't know he took kids."

"William Bartlay," A deep voice proclaimed, sounding both stern and somewhat amused at the same time.

"During the last 10 years, you have let yourself be tortured and mistreated daily. Instead of fighting back, you have declined into a state of acceptance and despair. You may only be a child, but you are old enough to still have some semblance of self preservation left. Your task today is a simple one. If you can overcome your conditioning and kill the man in front of you, you will be free to go. If you find yourself unable or unwilling to protect yourself even after your tormentor has been so thoroughly restrained, you will seal your fate as a victim. You have ten minutes."

Hotch grabbed the phone up, a direct line to Garcia, began barking orders. JJ and Morgan sat riveted to the screen. Reid ran a hand over his face and watched.

The boy was crying. He had been stripped to his underwear and his thin body was covered in bruises and welt marks that were plainly visible, even on the grainy feed. He held the gun loosely and walked around dazedly, eyes scanning the walls, the lights, anything.

"That's his real name?" Hotch snapped into the receiver, face grim. He disconnected and turned to face the other agents.

"Kid's name is legit. Never turned up for school today and was apparently sick yesterday. The man in the video is his father, Charles Bartlay. There have been 3 anonymous calls to social workers over the last year, but the father is a police officer and…"

"The kid denied it." Reid finished unnecessarily. Hotch nodded tightly, turned his attention towards the screen. The kid had snapped open the chamber of the gun, was apparently counting the bullets.

"I can't watch this." JJ said weakly, moving away from the monitor, one hand tugging on the material of her dress suit collar.

"He's going to do it." Reid breathed, watching as the boy snapped the chamber shut and walked towards his father. They all watched as the kid reached up, removed the gag from his father's mouth.

"He says I have to kill you." The boy said dazedly, free hand wiping at his eyes. The man in the chair looked at the gun, back at the boy, eyes wild with fear.

"Fucking untie me right now. You hear me?" His voice was hoarse, like he'd been screaming.

"I can't." The boy said, raising the gun.

"Listen to me, just untie me. Then we'll figure something out. It will be okay, if you just untie me. We'll figure something out."

"He's too strong." The boy said simply, eyes dull and lifeless.

The kid considered the gun, looked back at his father. Charles Bartlay leaned forward, hands taught against his ties.

"William, I am giving you an order. Put the gun down and fucking untie me…"

"He'll kill me if I don't do this." The kid said, face pinched and pale.

"Willy, listen to me, it'll be okay, but first you have to untie me…"

"I don't want to die, Daddy."

The sound of the gun blast made even Hotch wince. Reid looked away, blinked, looked back at the screen. The man in the chair, Charles Bartlay, looked confused for a second, before slumping over. The boy began to cry louder and Jigsaw cut back in.

"Very good, William. I know you have been wanting to do that for a long time."

The kid began to pace around like a trapped animal, a low, desperate keening noise rising in his throat. He went over to the slumped man, shook him, turned back towards the video feed, eyes huge and distant. Somewhere in the room the sound of an electric door lock buzzed and Jigsaw's voice said, quite simply: "You are free to go."

The feed died out and Hotch snapped the phone up, barking orders. Reid sat watching the snow, biting his lower lip, when the image of Jigsaw's face suddenly lit up the screen.

"Special Agent Aaron Hotchner and associates. I hope that got your attention." Hotch immidately moved back over to the monitor, one hand still cradling the phone. "Unfortunately, this young man's training is not yet over. The room he just walked into is airless and soundproof, a concrete coffin. You have two days to find him before his air supply runs out… of course, he has already been playing for a day without food or water, and the internal temperature of his tomb is below freezing."

The feed was back up. The kid was in another room, darkened, walking around in circles. After a moment he lifted his head towards the ceiling and called "Where do I go?" There was no response. He wrapped his arms around himself in a makeshift hug and continued to pace, hand reaching out to touch the wall. After a few minutes of pacing in near-blackness, with no further directions, he began to speak, low and raspy, voice clogged with tears.

"He's reciting the _Pater Noster_." Reid breathed, watching the feed, watching the kid's lips move. "More commonly known as the Lord's Prayer."

They all watched as the kid began to recite louder, pacing around in panicked, useless circles.

"And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those that trespass against us."

"He still has the gun." Reid said, gesturing to the screen. Hotch frowned, expression otherwise unreadable. The kid looked down at his hand, looked the piece over. Stopped and opened the barrel. Clicked it closed and continued to pray.

"And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom."

The boy gazed towards the ceiling again, face wet with tears.

"He won't kill himself." Hotch said coldly, watching the scene.

The kid raised the gun. JJ came back over, looked at the feed. They were all looking at the feed now.

"You said I could go!" The boy shouted towards the camera, face crumpling. He began to cry again, harder, a desolate and despairing sound. After a moment he stopped and screamed. "I did what you said! I did what you said!" There was a distinct note of panic in his voice now.

"Why doesn't he let him go?" JJ barked out, turning away from the feed. "He did what Jigsaw wanted… he killed him."

"The boy isn't the focus. We are." Reid said, eyes never leaving the screen. "He's managed to abduct us without touching us."

Hotch nodded coldly. The phone rang and the senior agent snatched it up, turned away from the group. "Yeah, I want the school reports, the social worker reports. I want this kid's picture on the news… someone… yeah. Yeah, we have a recent photo. Yes. 20 minutes away. Okay."

Hotch hung up, came back over to the feed.

The kid was angling the gun at the ceiling, body trembling harshly in the gloom. He walked over to the feed, squinted his eyes, smiled grimly.

"He sees the camera." Reid breathed. The boy raised the gun, camera in his sight. He closed his eyes, concentrating.

"You let me go or I'll shoot out your eye!" He screamed hysterically, angling the gun with shaking hands. Reid sucked in his breath, watching. A full minute passed as the boy kept the camera in his sight, trying not to cry. Reid leaned forward, studying his face, fingers ghosting over the screen of the computer as the boy's eyes hardened. "If I'm going to die in here, you're not going to watch." The kid said blankly, wiping at his eyes. His chest was rising and falling fast, but he managed to keep his expression blank, keep himself from tearing up. There was another gunshot and the feed went black.

Reid leaned closer, tilted his head. They were still getting audio. The kid was crying hard now, full out sobs, and they didn't need the visuals to know he was terrified.

"That was smart." Reid said, turning to face Hotch. "You think he knew-".

"Wait." Morgan interrupted, staring at the grainy blackness. "You guys hear that?"

Reid cocked his head, frowned. Morgan held up his hand, motioning them to silence.

"And even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me. Your rod and your staff, they comfort me." The words were gasped out, interspersed with tiny, mewling noises.

"You prepare a table before me, in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my cup," Here the boy stopped, choking back a sob, "My cup overflows. Surely goodness and mercy will follow me, all the days of my life… and I will dwell in the house of the lord, forever."

There was another gunshot blast. Hotch exhaled sharply, and even though there was no image on the screen, he turned away. Shut his eyes.

'We're going to get this son of a bitch." Morgan spat, eyes glittering.

Reid nodded, rubbed at his eyes. Hotch came back and disconnected the feed, expression blank.

"We land in five. Local PDs going to meet us."

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End file.
